


our own little worlds.

by bils_lonely_lucifer, eilish_ache



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Palaye Royale (Band), The Altogether (Band), Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Gen, I wrote one of these in English but eh, I'll probably put a B.E. reference in here for my friend, none of these characters have actual names, pretty much all of this is based on songs, where did all this come from?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28940031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bils_lonely_lucifer/pseuds/bils_lonely_lucifer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/eilish_ache/pseuds/eilish_ache
Summary: snippets and fantasies about our own alternate worlds. the worlds we like to imagine ourselves in. worlds that we control.---"I created this worldto feel some control,destroy it if I want."
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. Rust no.1

**Author's Note:**

> y'all know the song Oh Ms Believer? this was kinda inspired by it, so listening to that while you read works pretty well

everyone sees things differently here. some see it as bright shades of reds and greens, with yellow scattered around. others see it as blues and blacks, oranges and purples peeking out from behind the street corner. 

she sees everything differently. to her, spring is full of red and orange and pink. summer is red-and-black but there's little patches where the ground is purple, green, pink. it confuses her. 

she looks in the mirror, and a vibrant orange hue surrounds it. she's afraid. nobody knows what of: not her, not him. nobody.

she notices the swirls of black in the mirror's aura and blinks. that was never there before.

slowly, she walks away and into bed. she knows that someday she'll have to tell someone what she's seeing and feeling, but right now, she wants to focus on the present.

it starts to rain, and she looks outside through the gap in the curtains. there's a mixture of red, black and green, red-yellow falling from clouds of red-green-and-orange. it's beautiful. 

it's how she wants to feel.

she lies back, and eventually she falls asleep. 

in her dreams, she sees herself in a mirror. instead of the blue, black and orange aura she's used to seeing around herself, there's nothing. all she sees is her usual dark brown hair and vibrant green eyes, her dark clothes bringing the colour out and the small tattoo of a sparrow on her wrist peeking from her hoodie sleeve.

she sees a red sky and black, shadowed skyscrapers on one side. in the other window, she sees a navy-purple sky and dark buildings. she doesn't understand. 

her brother walks in then, and notices her confused expression. when he asks _what's wrong?_ she doesn't see the faint yellow-blue-and-red hue surrounding him like it usually would, or the thin slivers of pink that would show in the gaps. 

loud thunder sounds from outside, but it sounds muffled like she's underwater. she flinches and looks outside. the sky is still clear and bright like before. 

he reaches forward and takes her arm. he asks again, _what's wrong?_ this time more worried than ever. his tone feels like it does to hold a flower filled in with layers of blue and purple, confusion and worry colouring it a gentle shade of green-orange. or, it usually would. now there's nothing.

as he goes to tell her, _there's nothing out there that will hurt you,_ more thunder crashes. he doesn't hear it, but he does hear her small sound of fear. he gives up on words and pulls her in for a hug, evidently hoping to help her calm down.

a third crash of thunder and she's crying. she doesn't realise it, but he does and tries to tell her, _you're safe,_ to no avail.

a few seconds later, she shoots up out of bed. it wasn't real.

none of it was real.

she's almost glad. almost. 

outside, the rain is falling even harder than before. she sees heavy clouds in the sky and realises that the thunder she could hear was real and not just a figment of her imagination. 

she notices that her face is wet and realises that she'd been crying in her sleep. she wipes away the tears dripping down her chin and it leaves her skin feeling raw. 

a moment later, her brother walks in. the events of her recent dream flash by her eyes in a split-second, but she ignores it and focuses on the yellow-blue-and-red aura steadily growing visible around him as he sees she's been crying.

_what's wrong?_ he asks her, but she simply shakes her head, and he understands. thunder crashes outside, and she jumps, a deep shade of purple-red surrounding her in an instant. 

he walks to her quickly, the coloured shades surrounding him brightening the closer he comes. he wraps his arms around her thin, shaking figure and sings the song they wrote together when they were six in a voice shaded with yellow-purple and pink.

there's always pink when he's focused on her.

she often wishes her fears weren't so childish. at least then her brother wouldn't still be here with her. he'd be doing whatever he wanted, because she's sure that if it weren't for her he would be a lot happier. 

she wishes, but they'll never be granted.

she hears her brother sing the line _we all wish we could live inside our dream, 'cause things would be better that way,_ and wonders how they could have come up with something like that at the age of six. she probably didn't understand how a lyric like that would affect her when she was twenty.

she slowly lets the yellow-tinted sound of her brother's voice lull her into a peaceful slumber on his shoulder.


	2. Rust no.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I take song lyrics too literally sometimes, and this is the result.  
> based on the song Trapdoor by twenty øne piløts.

he wakes the first time at three, and lies on his back for half an hour before falling asleep again. by five, he's awake again and has realized that he won't get any more sleep, so he gets up and prepares for his day.

at six, he leaves for the town circus he's been working for for three years. the few people he passes stare at the vibrant purple-green-and-pink shades swirling around him, and he glares at them with a slight red-green-orange haze in his vision until they stop.

\---

when the magician walks into his dressing room at six-fifty, he's already a little fed up. one of the dancers that sometimes performs with him is already there and is busy setting out the few supplies he'll need for his first performance of the day - his hat, a deck of cards and two small birds in a simple cage. by the end of the day she'll have taken them home like she does every night. 

she immediately sees the blue-and-purple hues hovering over his head like a heavy grey cloud and is surrounded by a faint yellow-blue-red aura. it's a common occurrence, and he always tells her not to worry, but she does anyway.

he's come to appreciate that at least one person cares, even if he sometimes wishes she doesn't.

\---

by nine, he's onstage and performing for the school group that sit on the benches around the stage.

_"everyone gather around for a show."_ he gestures behind him, where another, darker version of himself stands. he's wearing a hat similar to the magician's, but the ribbon around it is green instead of the blood-red shade it should be.

_"watch as this man disappears as we know!"_ the magician looks back to the school children in front of him, the blue-green-orange shades reflecting in his eyes, leaning forward on the wooden crate he sits on. the fake enthusiasm in his tone fools them and they lean forward a little in excitement.

_"do me a favour and try to ignore,"_ he mutters quietly, but the teachers hear and look at him with an aura tinted with green-orange. he glares at them slightly, the class he stands in front of paying no mind to the mild hostility he shows toward the adults watching. usually, he'd have announced it loudly to the entire circus, watched as the few children sat in the crowd go wide-eyed and the blue-orange-and-green around them brightening. 

_"as you watch him fall through a bleeding trapdoor!"_ the magician throws his arm behind him to point to the other him, and in a cloud of smoke the trapdoor beneath his feet opens silently and drops him into a cold, empty cage hidden below the floor. 

\---

by nine-thirty, the magician is almost done with the performance; the children are asking if he really can pull rabbits from hats or a string of handkerchiefs from his sleeve. the red-black aura around him has slowly started to fade and be replaced with a pale shade of grey - not that they notice, or care.

at ten, the teachers leave with the children and the magician collapses in the chair in his dressing room. the dancer from earlier hands him a bottle of water, and he takes it gratefully. 

at ten past, he slips into a dreamless sleep. 

when he wakes at twenty-past twelve, he realizes that he hasn't been able to recall his dreams for the last four years. 

instead, he'd just lie on his back, afraid of the future and what it could hold.

\---

at twelve-fifty, the magician is back on stage. the darker him is still beneath the floor, fear slowly turning his vision black and purple and orange. 

he searches the cage silently, hoping to find a way to escape. he knows that if he makes a sound, he'll ruin the show, and so he sits and waits in silence for it to end. 

the magician above is repeating the same tricks he always does; it's surprising he hasn't already given up and left, because anyone could do them with a little practice. 

the darker him is listening as he feels the rainbow hues start to set in. he's starting to lose hope of his escape, and blue tears mixed with a pale grey fall from his eyes occasionally.

in the center of the circus tent, the magician is sawing a performer. the saw he's using isn't very sharp, but it still draws a little blood when it grazes the leg of one of the dancers. 

the blood falls onto the trapdoor, and drips through the cracks onto the cage floor below. it looks as if it's bleeding, he realizes, and the magician's lines ring through his head: 

_"as you watch him fall through a bleeding trapdoor!"_

_maybe that's what he's talking about,_ he thinks.

he knows it's over when the sounds of heavy feet over the trapdoor above fade away and the faint clapping and cheering from an energetic crowd disappears.

he's still trapped, and now the bars of the cage have a strong blue-and-black aura around them. 

he's never going to leave, he realizes that then.

\---

at one am the next night, the magician leaves his house. as he walks, he's not focused on where he's going and just letting his feet take him wherever they see fit. instead, he concentrates on the thoughts and memories swirling through his mind, slowly causing a vibrant blue-purple aura to surround his head and hands. he doesn't notice it until he looks up from the paths of his mind and sees where he is. 

the graveyard.

only then do his thoughts start to sort themselves back into the boxes he'd carefully placed them in and his memories tidy themselves away until the desks, tables and floors of his head are clear and he can focus on the present again, not just the past. a past he desperately wants to let go of.

he wanders aimlessly long the thin stone pathways of the graveyard, noting how many headstones have small flower bouquets set on top of them.

the magician often wonders if people would do the same for him. he doubts they would.

nobody knows him. the real him, not just the popular circus magician who does tricks for a living and spends his free time alone or walking between people's graves, asking himself if there's anyone who truly cares enough about him to visit his grave. 

when he reaches the edge of the graveyard, he sees a single headstone in the corner. there's a faded blue-black shade around it, and as the magician nears it, an almost yellow-purple hue surrounds his head.

he realises that it must have been forgotten about, and says to the grave, _"who you are, I don't know. we're not all that different, though."_

suddenly his mind's boxes and shelves are falling to the floor, the cabinets holding his memories emptying as they crash to the ground, and suddenly the faint blue-purple around him is back and this time accompanied by vibrant hues in every colour of the rainbow.

he doesn't know how it happened, but he sits on a nearby bench and tries to clear it all away again. he manages to get the drawers and cabinets back into place, but their contents are everywhere and can't be put back where they came from. the bookshelves that file away his childhood, every reminder of everything he remembers, can't be moved. not on his own, at least.

\---

at eight-thirty that night, the magician is back on stage.

he completes his usual routine of simple card tricks and makes animals appear or disappear into thin air, but the man over the trapdoor never appears. 

it being his final trick, he stands over the trapdoor and recites his lines.

_"everyone gather around for a show_

_watch as this man disappears as we know..._

_do me a favor and try to ignore,_

_as you watch him fall through a bleeding trapdoor!"_

it opens, and he falls through.

the magician's clothes sit in a pile in the centre of the cage. his hat sits on top.

the darker him, shrouded in red-black hues, reaches forward tentatively with one hand. with the other, he takes off his hat, the one with the dark green ribbon, and gently places the magician's hat atop his head.

the clothes remain.

\---

the man waves his hands through the air, and the lights on-stage shut off suddenly until the only thing visible is him.

he's happy. 

he's no longer just "the man over the trapdoor" or "the one in the background". he's more than just a part of the act.

he _is_ the act.


	3. Rust no.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in an English lesson

he steps from the plane and is immediately blinded by sunlight far brighter than he's used to. everything feels purple, green, pink, a shade of orange tinting the edges of his mind with it. 

hours later, after he's washed away the tiredness and purple-red tint that always comes with flying to another country, he heads for the museum. the curator greets him with a yellow-hued grin, and he give a matching one back. he tries to hide it, but he's still shrouded by a barely-visible purple fog.

walking through the empty museum halls, he notices a faint hue from the curator, shades of blue, orange and green surrounding him. he realises that these people are more greedy than they'd appear; after all, he's asked a famous archeologist and detective to help retrieve an object from a newly-discovered tomb. 

the curator leads him to his office, where he's handed a few photographs of the tomb. he looks through them with a slight orange-green-and-purple tint to his gaze as they leave the museum and drive to the site. 

twenty minutes later, they're there.

he steps down into the first chamber, instantly noticing the objects' auras, red green and orange everywhere. it grows steadily brighter as he descends further. 

he passes through the next two rooms uneventfully. those ones are empty; the curator probably already had those taken to the museum.

in the fourth room, however, there's a gilded sarcophagus and a matching aura so bright that he can't see. when his eyes adjust and the glow fades, he faintly hears a low rumbling sound. adrenaline suddenly spikes in him and he rushes to find the silver artefact that he's been sent to fetch, a faint red-and-green hue radiating from it. 

running from the room with the small statue in hand, his aura becomes a brighter shade of purple-and-red than he's ever seen it, even on himself. a pump of adrenaline pushes him to the doorway, only to find it blocked.

panic tints his vision a violent shade of black-and-orange. his blood rushes in his ears loudly, heart beating like a drum keeping a marching band to a steadily rising tempo. 

darting fearful eyes around the dark chamber, he finds a metal scaffolding pole left behind by the museum archeologists. he flickers his eyes between that and the doorway, then slips the statue into his bag. 

a yellow-blue-red shade surrounds his hands, mixed with the black that was already there, and he wedges the pole into the small space he can fit it in. 

pushing hard, he manages to move the barrier far enough out of the way that he can slip through the gap. the purple-red glow is replaced by yellow-and-purple hues, and he pulls the artefact from his bag and hands it to the curator. 

through a daze, he's taken to his hotel room. he falls asleep as soon as he hits the pillow. 

when he wakes, there's a small bag of hundred-dollar bills on the nightstand beside him, with a note expressing the museum's gratitude, glowing a pale blue-orange-green.


	4. Chaos no.1

What would my ideal world be? Well, it would be very (and I mean VERY) different from Earth.

People would not see normally, instead, will see two different worlds in each eye. From their right eye, they will see a dark world which is peaceful but at the same time eery. The sky is a vibrant red along with black buildings and skyscrapers which have tiny flashing lights on them. From their left eye, they will see a deep navy/purple sky with tall buildings which have bright neon lights on them.

The feeling of the atmosphere will be very calm. The type of calm that feels nostalgic and as if you're at the euphoric stage of being high. You start to feel kinda relaxed and to feel as if you're being lifted, but you're still on the ground. The feeling is great, but it can also startle you. 

There will also be the slowed version of these songs playing in the background: 

_ASTROTHUNDER -_ Travis Scott 

_Butterfly Effect_ \- Travis Scott

 _Highest In The Room_ \- Travis Scott

_everything i wanted_ \- Billie Eilish 

_Therefore I Am_ \- Billie Eilish

_WHEN I WAS OLDER_ \- Billie Eilish

 _all the good girls go to hell_ \- Billie Eilish

_Softcore_ \- The Neighbourhood

 _Doubt_ \- twenty øne piløts 

_Bandito_ \- twenty øne piløts


	5. Chaos no.2

I sat down on a leather couch with a blunt in my mouth, inhaling then exhaling all the smoke out. I could hear a quiet song playing in the atmosphere, but I couldn't quite hear it properly. The strong smell of alcohol penetrated my nose, making me dizzier and dizzier. I loved getting high, especially when I felt nostalgic. It kind of helped with my thoughts and feelings, almost controlling them and making me feel like a whole different person.

I started to open my eyes. On one side I saw a lot of strippers, dancing on guys and giving them lap dances. On the other, I saw a group of people sitting at a coffee table, smoking and drinking while playing poker. I can almost see two different worlds with each eye; that's kind of weird, I know. I wasn't like other people, where they just saw one world, I saw two. I didn't fit in most of the time. 

I took another long drag from my blunt then exhaled once again. I stoop up and made my way out of the building and into the streets. The song in my head started to change into a more relaxed melody with a soft lo-fi beat. As I walked down the street, I saw a bright red sky and a dark navy one. Both had bright white stars and a cloud or two here and there.

I soon started to feel dizzier, but not as much as I was back at the club. That dizziness soon turned into euphoria. I had an instant rush of adrenaline rush through my body and I felt an outburst of joy. I didn't usually feel this way, I would normally feel sad and droopy. But this didn't surprise me as every time I'd get high, it would be a whole different experience. 

I looked to my left and saw bright neon lights shining down upon the pavement, illuminating the dark tall buildings. This side reminded me of the times I used to ride my bike with my friends on the damp roads while shouting song lyrics at the top of our lungs. I then looked towards my right side and saw skyscrapers which had white flashing lights at the top. This side didn't really bring me back any memories.

Instead, it helped me make images and scenarios in my head, which I would later use to create a story. I enjoyed writing, a lot. It helped me get my feelings out and would just calm me down. It was a way for me to relax and get all the pressures off of me. 

I continued to walk some more until I had found a little wooden bench. I sat down and took another long drag. I stared off into space and just kind of let my mind wander for a second until I could focus on a single thing. I sighed and laid down. I closed my eyes and stayed there for a few minutes, waiting for something to happen to me. I didn't know what, but I knew something was about to happen.


End file.
